The Circus
by Nychta
Summary: Deidara is a circus brat obsessed with his 'perfect art'. Sasori is a workaholic puppeteer obssesed with his 'perfect art'. what happens when these two not-so conflicting ideas collide? Sasodei, Uchihacest will get VERY M
1. Chapter 1

The circus

Sasori x Deidara

Echoes and memories. Lately, that was all that was on Sasori's mind. Echoes of a deep voice, cheerfully tearing his world apart, and memories of long, sun-golden hair on water.

Lastly, Sasori remembered the glittering of tears.

I can't stay . . .

He closed his eyes and wished that nothing had ever happened.

I'll come back when I can . . .

It was too painful for Sasori to handle. He slumped down in his giant chair, puppet materials lying all around him.

_Deidara_

A tear pricked the corner of his eye, but he was Akasuna no Sasori. He refused to cry.  
>Especially over a man who had broken his solitary ways, and then left him all on his own again.<p>

_Deidara_

He refused to cry.

* * *

><p>Akasuna no Sasori was a solitary being. The only things in his life were his puppets, and that was the way he liked it. Living, breathing humans were too annoying for the ever impatient Sasori to deal with. God knows people tried to be friends (or more) with the red-headed puppeteer, but he didn't let anyone close. He didn't have a dramatic past that lead him to shun all company, he just didn't like socialising, and it was one of the few things that he wasn't good at.<p>

That was why it stung so much when his only friend called up and basically _begged_ him to accompany him to some _stupid_ event his brother had apparently organised. The friend in question hardly ever begged, so Sasori couldn't exactly say that he only went because he was a good friend. Above all, Sasori was a sadistic bastard, and watching Itachi Uchiha cower in front of his little brother was very, very high on his to do list.

Itachi knew this, of course, and Sasori knew that Itachi was just waiting for the day when he could watch the red-head trying to make peace with whomever he pissed off. You would think that this would happen very often, because Sasori wasn't just sadistic, he was rude as well, but, to tell the truth, Sasori just didn't care. Neither did Itachi, and that was the reason that they got along so well. Itachi had to play the scary manager thingo (no matter how many times Itachi told him the name of his incredibly important job, it just flew straight through one ear and out of the other, so Itachi had finally given up) but he wasn't allowed to act like the heartless bitch he really was.

Let's just say that Itachi had a tally of how any waitresses he had reduced to tears and it was three pages long. Which really couldn't compare to Sasori's six pages, not that it was a competition. Sasori and Itachi were naturally like that, competing, yet totally at peace. No one won and no one lost, which confused a lot of people, including those who had known them from birth or before. It made a bit of sense to Sasuke, Itachi's little brother, because he had the same sort of relationship with Hyuuga Neji, sans the 'peaceful' bit. Sasuke was almost as much of a bitch as his brother, but he was much moodier. Itachi wouldn't appreciate that being said to his face, though.

He knew, understood and played to his advantage his nature as a bitchy, manipulative . . . Uchiha, but he thought the sun shined out of his little brothers ass, which was his biggest flaw in Sasori's mind. Nothing was perfect, except maybe for a few of his puppets. Oh, and anything that would last forever. So that ruled out any human being, though both Sasori and Itachi were close to that unreachable perfection.

But Sasori's perfection was unreachable, untouchable, the perfect goal. Sometimes it depressed him that he would never achieve his ultimate form of beauty, that he, himself, would never be the one to sit by and watch life's never ending cycle of life and death.

Eternal perfection.

That was his unreachable, untouchable goal, and he would never give up on it.

Not for anything.

* * *

><p>Me: . . . or so he thought. Mwahahahahaha!<p>

This is my first post, ever, so please go easy on it *begging face*

I'm sick, it's 2:07 IN THE FUCKING MORNING and I can't sleep.

Why not?

Well, you know this little thing called breathing? I can't do it while asleep.

Fuck my life.

Anyway . . . yadda, yadda, I own naddda, and all that disclaimer shit, and I apologise for the depressing ending.

Sasori's always struck me as a moody bastard, and it's like three days since I wrote the first bit (as in, up to the depressing paragraph about Sasori's little 'perfection problem')

It's also short.

I AM SO SO SO SO SO SO SORRY! *sobs*

I can't STAND short chapters in fics. Bugs the hell out of me. But it was now or never.

This story will probably never continue if I don't get at least three people dropping me a line in a review.

This isn't a 'review or the story dies' sort of thing, but if I don't have motivation, the best I can get is four or five chapters, if I'm lucky.

Anonymous reviews are on, so you don't have to sign in or anything, just one word will do.

It's not that hard.

Anyway, see you one *longer* chapter later.

Hope you enjoyed this.

Nychta is OUT.

Night-night


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you soo much to FoxLover440, my first reviewer ever.

EVER!

Huge thanks go to AkumaNoDanna, for letting me bounce ideas off her, and generally being awesome.

I was so excited when I read the reviews that I could actually breathe! And that is surprising because the cold I had yesterday is now bronchitis. Yay. (Hear the sarcasm)

Warnings: Hidan language, though he isn't in here yet , hints of bad things that aren't exactly clear yet, and grammar mistakes. Damn it.

So.

On with the story!

Neji: . . . You forgot something, idiot.

Me: Wait, where the FUCK did you come from, Neji? Aren't you off 'playing' with Gaara in another fic of mine? And I do not forget things, stupid Hyuuga. I merely chose not to mention them.

Neji: Do you even know what you forgot?

Me: Of course! *proud face* The disclaimer ALWAYS goes on the bottom for me, though.

Neji: *sigh* Put some pants on, will you?

Me: wait . . . WUT?

* * *

><p>Dei's pov<p>

". . . so does anyone have any objections?"

Deidara yawned. Briefings were always boring, but he could put up with them. It was part of his job, after all. He really wished that somehow this whole 'organising the production' part of the show could be skipped, though. He didn't _do _long and boring. Oh, way no. He was fundamentally opposed to the idea. Everything about him reflected that, from his eclectic clothing, always bright, favouring neon blues and reds, to his job.

Deidara was an acrobat. A really good acrobat. A really good acrobat, who was the only one in the Iwa circus to directly incorporate pyrotechnics into his performances. Nothing about him was boring, and, if he had his way, nothing about him ever would be.

"Okay, that will be all," The younger generation all scrambled up, rubbing stiff necks and stretching arms in ways that they were never meant to be stretched. This was a circus after all, and an awful lot of people were double jointed. The scramble for the door happened about two seconds after the third person had slipped out of it. Deidara tried to slip through the crowds of people, but he was blocked by clumps of people, all excitedly chatting about the part they were to play in the next performance.

"Except for those in the ANBU, come back here in half an hour, we have more to discuss."

The chatter didn't cease, but the looks on the faces of the performers were no longer truly happy. They knew what went on in the ANBU.

Most of them just forgot about the announcement, pushing it to the back of their minds and thanking god that it hadn't been them who had been born with these abominations, that it was not them who were not fully human.

But some did not. Could not. Because they had been born as an abomination. They were freaks of nature that did not deserve to exist. That was the commonly held view. But there were people out there who would pay dearly to see them. To have them, for just one night.

And that was what the Iwa circus was famous for. All the freaks of the country of Iwa and some surrounding areas as well, had been gathered up and taught to perform. They formed the ANBU, and they would do anything, for a price. Not that they minded. They had no human emotions, didn't feel pain and they didn't care what anyone did to them. That was the commonly held view.

The reality, however, was somewhat different.

_Half an hour?_ Deidara thought _Only half an hour? Fucking tight asses._

Deidara's joy at the thought of his upcoming performance had disappeared in the face of what was to come.

_You'd think that they could give us more than half an hour's break to get our shit together, what with all the things we do for them._

Deidara did not want to think of what was to come in the next half an hour.

* * *

><p>Sasori was bored.<p>

Not I'm-going-to-kill-myself-if-I-don't-do-anything-interesting bored, but more like that sense of boredom that wells up in the back of your mind and tickles all of your senses, the feeling that you can't quite identify, but you know that if you _do _something, it will go away. In some ways, that was the worst type of boredom, because by the time you realise that you ARE bored, it's far too late, and your whole day has been ruined.

Sasori blamed Itachi for his boredom, grumpiness, antisocial feelings and everything else, including the death of his mother (who died before Itachi was born), right at that moment.

Who wants to go to a circus when it isn't actually on? Uchiha Sasuke, that little shit, it seemed. Why, oh WHY did Itachi have to be so mad about his brother? What had Sasori done to deserve this torture? He missed his small, dark room, illuminated by one small lamp and two candles. He missed his big, comfy chair, and, most of all, he missed his puppets.

_Fuck you, weasel_ he thought viciously. He didn't like circuses at the best of times, and that was when the performers were soaring high above his head, beautiful dresses swirling and the smell of cotton candy and popcorn clung to everything. He couldn't find anything artistic about it at all.

The circus was an illusion, that crawled into your mind one night, making you see and feel things that weren't real. Sasori just didn't like that kind of thing. If it wasn't eternal, it could go get fucked. That was Sasori's philosophy. Itachi agreed with it in many ways (he wasn't too fond of circuses himself) but here he was, the traitor, dragging him along just because SasGAY wanted to go see his best friend, who just happened to be part of the circus. How the moody Uchiha brat had ever managed to make a friend, let alone one that was constantly moving around escaped Sasori. Uchihas' weren't exactly known for the rainbows and butterflies that liked to follow them around.

Sasori was sure that the only reason that the elder Uchiha had agreed to come along and meet Sasuke's friend was that he didn't want said friend to be anything more to Sasuke. He most likely chose Sasori as the person to accompany him (Sasuke had said that Itachi could not come unless he brought a friend) to help him with intimidation tactics. Sasori knew this. That was one of the reasons he had agreed to the _stupid_ arrangement. Just because he didn't like circuses didn't mean that he didn't get a kick out of bullying random people. And if it made Sasuke mad, then all the better. Let's just say that a friend of Sasuke's once did something very bad to his favourite puppet, and Sasuke had laughed. So had Itachi, of course, but that was only to be expected.

Itachi and Sasori had known each other since primary school. Sasori had been in eight and a half, and clever for his age. The teachers had requested that he move up a year, but his parents had politely declined. They knew that if they tried to push Sasori further than they wanted to go, it would most likely turn around and bite them on the ass. Itachi had been six, and VERY clever for his age. So clever, that he had been moved up two classes in half a year.

*flashback*

"_Good morning, children," the teacher at the front of the room said in a kind voice, with a smile that looked strained to Sasori's young eyes._

"_Good morning, Jiraiya." The greeting seemed to have come from one being, not the many seated small desks, ordered in rows around the classroom. It seemed informal to call their teacher by just his name, but the days of '' had long since passed, and the teacher did not mourn them. He had found that connecting with children had been hard with that constant reminder of the difference between them there._

"_We have a new student today," Jiraiya informed his class. He pitied the poor boy that was being moved here, as this was the worst class that he had taught in his fifteen year long teaching career. Sasori pitied him as well. This class was ell, unless you knew the right people. Or if you were Sasori. The only person that wasn't bullied and gossiped about in the whole year level was him. Probably because he had bashed up the last person to spread rumours about him._

"_His name is Uchiha Itachi, and he just moved here from little valley primary school." Little valey was one of the well known private schools in the area, so why this Itachi person had moved was a mystery to Sasori. Especially if this was the Uchiha Itachi he thought it was._

"_Come on in, Itachi." Jiraiya had told the boy._

_The orange door into the classroom had opened, and Sasori immediately took an interest in the figure that stepped in. dressed all in black, with black hair and eyes, but skin as pale as untouched snow, Itachi was an intimidating figure. Almost as intimidating as the red headed Sasoi._

"_Itachi, will you introduce yourself?" Jiraiya had asked. A single nod had answered his question._

"_My name is Uchiha Itachi, and I am six years old. I love my baby brother and hate everyone else." This abrupt statement had been made without one expression crossing his face. _

"_Can I sit down now?" this last question had been directed at the white haired teacher._

"_Ahh," Jiraiya clearly didn't know how to handle this boy "If there aren't any questions…"_

_Sasori's hand waved lazily through the air._

"_Yes, Sasori?" Jiraiya didn't know how to deal with him either. Sasori ignored him, staring into the new boys onyx eyes._

"_Are you the son of Mikoto and Fugaku?" Sasori asked, curiosity showing on his small face. He folded his hands together and rested his cheek against his cold fingers. "The Uchiha prodigy?"_

_A nod met his statement. They stared at each other for a moment longer, silently judging each other. It looked very odd to the rest of the class, like something incredibly important was happening, but they couldn't seem to understand what._

_Suddenly, the red head smirked._

"_My name is Akasuna no Sasori. Come sit by me, Uchiha."_

*end flashback*

That was how they had become friends, snap first judgements and a mutual enjoyment of freaking people out. They weren't the type to sacrifice things for each other, and they weren't dependant on each other. Sasori had half a mind to turn around and go home, because it had already been half an hour, and Sasuke's friend had not shown up when he heard something.

"ART IS A BANG, YEAH!"

Oh, no, they did not just say that.

Sasori turned around, to come face to face with a blond that seemed to be running away from something.

"What did you just say?" he growled out, fists clenching. Only art could get him this worked up, this quickly.

"I said that art is a bang, yeah." the blond repeated in a slightly quieter voice. Sasori winced. Slightly quieter was still very loud.

"No it's not." Sasori informed him. "Art is eternal beauty, unreachable and untouchable. Art is what everyone strives to be, but never quite reaches." The blond looked at him weirdly.

"What are you talking about? Art is fleeting, a moment of transient beauty, there for only one moment yet, remembered forever."

"I dare you to say that again."

"Alright, asshole; Art is fleeting, a moment of transient beauty…"

The blond stopped talking as a fist found its way to his cheek.

Glares were exchanged between bright blue eyes and earthy brown ones.

_This is war._

* * *

><p>Sooo . . . what do ya think?<p>

Not quite as good as the first chapter, I must admit, but I couldn't just leave it there.

It was incredibly hard to start up again, because the ending was so good, and not open ended at all. completely forgot where I was going with it.

It is longer, though, nearly 2000 words. Hehehe, at the moment, that's probably the best you'll get from me.

Disclaimer: If I owned naruto, Sasuke would be dead,

If I owned naruto, Sasori would be in my bed.

If I owned naruto, he wouldn't be so fail

And if I owned naruto, I'd probably commit suicide because looking at the orange monstrosity I had made into the main character would depress me that much.

Thanks for reading, reviewing (virtual teddies from me to anyone that did drop me a line) and umm…. Sorry, forgot what I was going to say.

I Know it has something to do with purple platypuses from Pluto, but what they've got to do with what I'm talking about is questionable.

I would also like to thank Neji for reminding me about my pants, and would like to tell him that he can talk :P

Anyways, see ya (I refuse to say 'ja ne' as I think it sounds stupid coming from me.)

Hope you enjoyed.

Nychta is OUT.

Nighty-night.


	3. Chapter 3

**The circus**

**Chapter three**

Dei's POV

_Thank god that's over, _Deidara thought, rubbing the back of his head where he had gotten hit by something sharp. It was bleeding, but looking after it could wait. Right now, all the blond wanted to do was collapse in his small tent and fall asleep. He didn't sleep as often as some of the members of the circus, but that didn't mean that he was like Gaara. That boy never slept.

Deidara didn't mind, though, as it allowed him to have someone to talk to at all stupid hours of the night, as he was working on his next performance. In fact, he was so grateful to Gaara that he had made him a little teddy bear.

Actually, the little teddy had a small bomb inside it, and Deidara had been going blow it up, just to see the annoyed and murderous look on the petite redheads face. But then he had looked down to the teddy bear in his hands, and back up, incredulously, at the blond.

"For . . . me?" The words were spoken in a way that was so unlike Gaara, soft and vulnerable.

"Of course," Deidara had replied. That was the first time Deidara ever saw Gaara smile. Heartbreakingly slow and hesitant, but there, nonetheless. Deidara had decided right there on the spot that he wasn't going to blow the toy up. Even he, freak and abomination, had received gifts.

To make sure that he never gave into the temptation of making the teddy into art (of the Gaara-annoying kind) he had snuck into Gaara's room one of the rare nights that the redhead slept. He had quickly cut open the seam of the bear and pulled out the blob of clay containing the explosive powder and flint that, if activated, would blow up.

If Deidara remembered correctly, he had blown it up in Inuzuka Kiba's favourite dog's face. The look on the dog trainer's face had been comical when the loud bang was heard, and his precious Akamaru started to whimper. It was even funnier when he realised that he would never be able to get all that glitter out of his dog's fur. Deidara would still have preferred to see Gaara glitter bombed, but such is life.

Deidara had become a big brother figure for the acid tongued insomniac after the teddy bear incident. He had watched as Gaara grew up, and became friends with the blond clown Naruto, and became his protector. He watched as he met his first love, had his heart broken, became a skilled performer and started to be… less murderous. The ice walls surrounding him seemed to have gotten thinner and warmer, though Deidara suspected that they would never fully go away.

He knew because he had walls too. Deidara's weren't made of ice, but they were probably far more effective. You can melt ice, but you can only get through blinding light if your blind, and in that case, you wouldn't see anything anyway. Deidara's bright smile and laugh gave him protection and kept away most of the nasties. After all, he was friends with Hidan and Kakuzu.

Hidan and Kakuzu were known for being even scarier than Gaara, if that was possible. Hidan would do anything for his god, including killing, and Kakuzu would do the same for money. Hidan was a magician, and Kakuzu preferred the business side of things. They were total opposites, yet they were somehow the best of friends.

Okay, maybe 'friends' was stretching it a bit, but they certainly weren't enemies. Far from it. In fact, the only time when they_ were_ enemies was when they were having rough, kinky, angry, sex. Then that, of course, called for rough, kinky make-up sex. It was at times like those when Deidara became very glad that Madara, the ringleader of the circus, had seen fit to put Deidara in a tent by himself. Of course, this only came about after six attempted rapes, and the inability to work because Hidan was very . . . loud. All night. For TWO GODDAMNED MONTHS! How Kakuzu and Hidan continued to function with only half an hours sleep per night was a mystery.

Most people, save for Deidara, Madara and Gaara, thought that Kakuzu and Hidan couldn't stand each other. Oh, the looks on their faces would be priceless if they knew the truth. The zombie twins (as their best friends called them) knew that, and were saving that particular piece of information for a special time. If Deidara knew them like he thought he did, it was probably for their unofficial wedding.

You know; 'we are gathered here to witness the joining of two souls, Hidan and Kakuzu,'

'WHAT THE FUCK?'

Deidara was looking forward to the day that they finally came clean with everyone, and had informed Kakuzu that he was willing to pay big bucks to be there when they did. Basically, he was guaranteed a front-row seat.

Deidara yawned. The whole day hadn't been tiring, but the past few hours had been hell. Meeting after meeting, after meeting. Deidara did not appreciate that. He was sick and tired of all the fuss and bothe- _oh, shit._

His train of thought was cut off as a familiar pair of yellow eyes came into his line of sight. _What did I ever do to deserve this?_

"who'ss thisss I sssee?" an unpleasantly . . . hissy voice invaded his ears. Deidara winced. He did not want to deal with Orochimaru at the moment. He wanted to go to his tent and sleep, or, if that was impossible, find his way to Madara's huge tent and hog the ringleader's gigantic bed.

"It's the 'artistic' idiot," another voice sneered from behind him. Deidara groaned, and re-assessed the situation. It wasn't just Orochimaru, the perverted snake charmer that had tried to rape him. Someone else was with him as well. Creepy-maru, the first person to share his tent, and his bitch, Kabuto of the lame glasses had blocked off all of his exits. Kabu-bitch of the glasses of absolute nerd-dom was tapping something heavy on the floor, and Oro-pedo was smirking in a way that made the bond feel uneasy. In fact, everything about the snake charmer made him feel uneasy. Orochimaru was just special that way.

Deidara kept his eyes locked on Orochimaru's knowing from experience that if Kabuto were to try anything, the signal would come from his ex-tent partner. After all, Kabuto was nothing more than Orochimaru's bitch, no matter how much Madara hinted otherwise. Madara was too optimistic.

Deidara's hand crept slowly towards the small pouch he kept in his pocket, attached to one of the many chains that jingled as he moved. His breathing had started to get faster, and his heart was racing. He wasn't sure if he hated these situations or if he loved them. After all, showing off his art was worth being molested and almost raped.

Deidara had to stifle a grin at that thought. His art was what he lived for, and everyone knew that. Bt Deidara's passion wasn't confined to one art exclusively, not that many people knew that. To most, Deidara was just the crazy circus freak, obsessed with flying. But he had one other passion that he felt like indulging himself in. it had been months since he had been able to demonstrate his talents outside of his tent, and he had been feeling restless recently. The artist knew that if he did what his body was urging him to do, Madara would have his ass, but he couldn't find it in him to care. Madara was always mad at Deidara for some reason or another.

Orochimaru's smirk started to gain an edge that Deidara liked even less than his original one, and he became aware that his attempt to make sure that his smile never reached his face had failed. A small grin had made its way up onto his pouty pink lips, and, since it was already there, Deidara felt no need to deny it.

His smile filled his whole face, and his blue eyes danced with delight. Deidara knew he looked like a girl when he smiled, so he avoided it at all costs, but his art was his exception. If he had a chance to put his art to use, he would smile, girly-ness be damned.

"You know Orochimaru," Deidara spoke for the first time, his voice deeper than a woman's, but not too deep. It was no rumbling bass. His eyes didn't stray from Orochimaru's slitted ones, and it occurred to Deidara that Orochimaru spent a little too much time with his snakes if his eyes looked like that. "I don't like you, yeah?" it wasn't really a question, but Deidara preferred to talk like that. At least it wasn't as bad as when he was little, and he had added a damnable 'un' after EVERY SINGLE ONE OF HIS SENTENCES.

It had annoyed the fuck out of everyone, including the mild mannered Minato Namikaze. His son, Naruto, didn't seem to mind, but he had seen fit to add 'believe it' after nearly all of his sentences, until he had made friend with some civilian boy from some place or another. Deidara only knew about the hyperactive pranksters' new friend because Gaara was another close friend of his.

Orochimaru's grin had faded nearly completely off his face, and was replaced with a sneer.

"I don't care if you don't like me," he hissed. "All you have to isss lay sssstill like the whore you are, and Kabuto and I will do all of the work for you." Deidara was no longer smiling. Rape was not funny business, and he already knew . . . he stopped that thought halfway.

He had known when Orochimaru had approached him that something was going to happen, but he had thought the snake charmer more intelligent than to try to rape him again. Despite all his faults, Orochimaru was not unintelligent. He knew now that he had to get out of there quickly, no dragging the fight out, so that he could attract attention and show the whole circus the beauty of his art.

Knowing Orochimaru and Kabuto, they had some kind of drug all ready for him, not deadly, but enough to paralyse him. It would probably freeze his tongue in his mouth, so that he couldn't scream. That was his ultimate fear, absolute helplessness. Even death didn't scare him as much.

His hand had reached the pouch in his pocked without knocking any of the chains he wore, and Deidara made a mental note to not wear so many. If this happened again . . .

His heart was pounding harder than ever, and he was sure that Orochimaru could hear it. Is breath seemed to have gathered at the top of his chest, and it became harder to exhale.

Adrenaline rushed through him, and he knew that _now _was the time to act.

Deidara brought a small clay bird out of his pocket, as well as a lighter. _I hope this kills you, bastard_ Deidara thought, as he flicked the lighter on and brought it up under the little bird, the flame flickering against a small indentation at the birds' stomach.

Not waiting for longer than two seconds, he turned and lobbed the bird directly at Kabuto.

"ART IS A BANG, YEAH!" he shouted, as he ran through the smoke that his little 'birdy bomb' had caused, his eyes tightly closed. By the gasps coming from the direction of Orochimaru's little crony, he had not only inhaled the smoke, but had gotten it in his eyes, too.

A clatter was heard one large one, that was presumably a bat of some sort, and the other was a smaller sound, metallic. _I was right about the drugs_.

Deidara suppressed a shudder and continued to run, eyes closed, nose and mouth covered by a hand. He knew that he had gotten past the smoke when he turned a corner, running into open air. The sound of a small water fountain drowned out nearly all the sounds from nearby. It was a beautiful space.

But Deidara didn't notice that. He was too busy staring at the redhead in front of him. His skin was so pale that it looked like ceramic. Eyes that drifted on the edge of brown and red bored into his head, and, the crowning glory, was his head of messy red hair. It was the colour of fresh blood, dropped on spotless snow, like a streak of crimson against black. This boys'-no, mans'-whole appearance was that of a doll. Beautiful, flawless.

Then he had to go and ruin it all.

"What did you say?" his voice was soft and smooth, but there was something in it that made Deidara gulp. What had he said recently? Oh, yeah.

"Art is a bang, yeah." Deidara didn't bother lowering his voice. An insane grin crossed his face. Adrenaline was still racing through his body, and he didn't _want _to control himself. He wanted tto show his art to the world.

"No, it isn't." the redhead told him in a superior voice. "Art is eternal beauty, unreachable and untouchable. Art is what everyone strives to be, but never quite reaches." The grin faded from Deidara's face, and he looked at the shorter man incredulously.

"What are you talking about? Art is fleeting, a moment of transient beauty, there for only one moment yet, remembered forever." The blond artist didn't like the redhead's arrogant attitude. What he was saying was blatantly untrue.

"I dare you to say that again." The redhead's eyes flashed dangerously, but Deidara didn't care. He would never admit that his art was second best.

"Alright, asshole" the redhead had clearly indicated that that was what he was. "Art is fleeting, a moment of transient beauty…" Deidara stopped speaking, shocked.

_Who the fuck punches someone because their artistic views are different? _Deidara stopped that thought for a second. _Apart from me . . ._

Deidara glared into the red-brown eyes.

_and, more importantly, who _actually _believes that art is eternal? Asshole._

Then the shock from being punched by a complete stranger, all because of his _screwed _up artistic beliefs set in.

Deidara's blue eyes narrowed.

_This is war.  
><em>

* * *

><p>Say yay for Dei!<p>

The first part of this chapter was really hard to write, so sorry for any jerkiness. (OMG thae bit that I found so hardd to write looks so short)

I have, like, two minutes to finish this, soooo . . .

Disclaimer: because 'Kira' is obviously another form of 'Kishimoto', so I own naruto (can you hear the sarcasm? 'cause I can)

Anyways, see ya.

Nychta is OUT

Night night


	4. Chapter 4

**Hurro, peoples.**

**FINALLY! A new chapter of the circus! Sorry for the long wait, but…I had unavoidable circumstances (see bottom A/N).**

**Warnings; foul language, Sasori's pov (that means insufferable assholeishness and mood swings), Deidara (that means loud mouthed blond being loud mouthed blond without any shame whatsoever), and …umm…violence? Yes, violence. After all**

**This. Is. War.**

**Read and enjoy :)**

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><p>Bright red hair on a background of honey gold.<p>

Nails painting profound pictures against each others' skin.

Loud pants, echoing against the stone walls of the fountains.

Clothes that had been cast to the floor in the manner of those possessed.

Eyes bright with some unknown emotion.

"DAMNIT, BRAT! ART IS ETERNAL!"

"NO WAY, ASSHOLE! IT'S EPHEMERAL, AND YOU KNOW IT, YOU RED-HEADED BASTARD!"

Oh, wait.

Sasori knew the emotion that had sparked his usually lazy auburn eyes. Yes, he knew it well.

Sasori was _pissed off._

He didn't know if he had ever been so affronted by a single person in all of his thirty six years of life. He was ignorant, he was presumptuous, he was pretentious, and, most of all, he was _gorgeous._ Sasori couldn't stand most good-looking people. They thought that they were so much better than the average guy or girl, when the truth was that all that set them apart was the colour of their hair, unblemished skin, or a bright twinkle in an otherwise ordinary eye. And this…person had it all. Sasori's nose wrinkled with disgust. Art was best suited on things that would never age, things that would not be marred with the lines of experience, and would not be flawed by things like mere words. Sasori _hated_ beautiful people.

The red nail marks down the blonds' cheek did nothing to disguise how pretty he was. At first Sasori had been in doubt as to whether this man was really a man, but his kick had given him away. At one point, he had spun about and in an extremely graceful, and flexible move, had jumped up and around, in a sort of split, spinning his legs out to catch Sasori in the face twice. The way his dainty feet had connected with Sasori's head had been pure brute force, lacking the deviousness and distraction that a girl would have used. A woman would probably have stayed on the ground, kicked on leg out, and, while he was distracted punched him in the stomach, then kneed him in the groin.

That was another thing that pointed towards him being male. Despite the savagery of the fight, not one hit had been aimed towards his private areas.

Sasori snarled. That was enough thinking. The idiotic brat had annoyed him, and he was sick to death of weak punches that had nothing behind them, and acrobatic tricks that had him on the floor, arms over his head. It was time to pull out the big guns.

Years of martial arts trainings that he had been dragged to because Itachi was a bitch finally had some sort of use. Krav maga, the Israeli defence forces' fighting style of choice, was Sasori's specialty, and it wasn't very different to Itachis'. The raven haired Uchiha specialised in aikido, which was basically the same, except from Japan. Sasori knew that there was much more to it, but at that moment, he didn't care.

He moved his body like he had been taught to, fast, hard punches, then back to defending his head, legs sweeping out in movements so fast and skilled that the stupid blond couldn't see them coming, keeping light on his feet so that he could move out of the way as quickly as possible. Sasori was shorter than the loud mouthed blond, but he knew how to use that to his advantage. Ducking and twirling, he didn't use brute force, rather a combination of speed and feints.

It had been ages since the usually (sort of) calm red-head had gone all out like this, and not many could stand up to the barrage of fists and legs he turned into. A savage look had wormed its way into his eyes, as he concentrated more on finding slip-ups in the blonds defence than yelling insults about him, his ancestors, his friends, and his artistic talent. The blond had fallen nearly silent as well. Only grunts of exertion and small 'hiii-ya~' like sounds escaping his mouth as he flew a kick towards Sasori's head.

Sasori grudgingly confessed that the brat was good. In his head, of course. He would never acknowledge that the brat had any sort of talent out loud. A viciously fast punch flew toward his head, and Sasori ducked. Why go through the pain of diverting a punch with your arm when you could duck, avoid the fist _and_ throw your aggressor off balance?

Admittedly, it did make the other person look rather stupid, floundering around and cart wheeling their arms to try and regain some sense of equilibrium, but Sasori didn't care. He wasn't the one fighting to regain his steadiness, and so, it made no difference. But it did give him the time to slip in front of him, and punch the blond in the stomach with all his might. The whole force of his body had been thrown into the forwards motion that he had used.

The blond flew back, visible eye wide. His hair flapped out of his face, and Sasori could see some kind of metal contraption where his other eye should be, but he ignored him. Observations could be pondered upon _after_ the fight was finished. The brat had crashed into the knee high wall of the fountain with quite a bit of force, so would have been a smooth skid around, pivoting on one hand and crouching in a defensive position was suddenly just a fall.

He had tried to reach out his hand and balance on the small, hand span wide wall, but the unexpectedly slick surface made that impossible. He crashed down into the fountain, water splashing up and soaking him from head to toe.

Sasori froze.

He wanted- no, needed- to preserve that image. Water made the brats' clothes darker, and a bit see through, due to the white t-shirt. The red scarf around his throat looked like an open wound. In just the right light- _this_ light- bits and pieces of gold coloured thread could be seen, snaking their way through that redness. Blood and honey. His dark pants, the colour of midnight had lost their loose shape, and were clinging to slender, gently muscled legs like lovers re-united. His golden hair had covered half of his face, and his pink lips were opened in surprise, his wide eye bluer than the sky above him. His hands, half covered by red fingerless gloves, had been thrown out in front of him, and it just added to the illusion that he was flying. His purple nails were a dark shock against the clear sky above them. The drops of water reflected the colours that made up the image of perfection, for just that single moment.

….angel…

How could Sasori think that? He had known the brat for about two minutes, and he already couldn't stand him. But all those thoughts had vanished in the small moment. Art was eternity…a moment captured, to be admired for the rest of time. He just stood there, long after the small droplets had fallen, and the brat was just lying there. But only for a fraction of a second.

The blond flipped up, quite the feat as the surface he was landing on was soaking wet and slippery, and his undoubtedly heavy clothes were weighing him down. A flash of metal from the…thing on his right eye, the flap of his red scarf, like a scar against the statue of a man in the background.

An avenging angel.

What would capture this scene so that it could be preserved forever?

Metallic paint for the hair, surely, but that would fade too soon for Sasori's comfort. Maybe gold leaf…but there was just so much of it to be-

His thoughts were cut off, as he noticed the annoyingly fascinating brat wasn't in front of him anymore. _Damnit, I was thinking, brat. Stay still for a second so I can paint you._ His hands reached automatically to the left, the place that Sasori always had his panting tools. As opposed to the right, which was reserved for puppetry. His hands met thin air, and he looked around. How could he have been so distracted as to not notice he wasn't in his studio? How long had it been since the last time inspiration had hit him that hard? The answer; a depressingly long time ago. His most recent ex-muse had become clingy and possessive, thinking that they were in some kind of relationship _other_ than model and artist. It had taken only two weeks to get rid of her.

Then, as Sasori was in dreamland, contemplating how he would paint, draw, carve and otherwise capture the two small moments that had ignited some kind o fire n him, he was being driven backwards. A knee seemed to want to drill a hole in his stomach.

Sasori coughed, phlegm dispelling itself from his throat. He took a few steps backwards to regain his balance but…_when did I turn around? Damn…_

He was falling. There would be no fancy flips or miraculous turns that would keep Sasori from hitting the ground hard. From this distance, he knew the bet he could do was stay in this position, so that he didn't land awkwardly on his arm and break it. It had always been a bit iffy, since Sasori had done that exact thing when he was younger.

But he had forgotten one thing. The fountain contained water, and it was full enough to nearly cover Sasori's calf. The landing that he was expecting wasn't nearly as soft…or as wet. _Damn. I hope someone will lend me some more clothes._ Itachi probably had another set of clothes in the car, but Sasori wanted to avoid having to wear them. The red-head was about ten centimetres shorter than the Uchiha bastard, and he had never forgiven his body for stopping there. He looked like a fucking pre-pubescent _girl_ sometimes. It wasn't his fault his eyelashes were disgustingly long. He looked especially stupid when Itachi's –already small sized- clothes dwarfed his slender frame.

He closed his eyes in resignation. He was soaking wet, and he had inspiration. His hands were itching, and he _had_ to gather the next material that he could use, and form it into the likeness of the annoying brat in front of him. Suddenly, it seemed like all the fight had been sucked out of his bones. He lay in the not so shallow water like one of his puppets come to life.

"So do you admit that art is fleeting now?" a voice crowed from over the red-headed puppet masters body. He opened one eye just the slightest bit. He didn't want to talk. He had used up all his daily words on arguing with the Uchihas, and, now, this brat had made him use a lot of energy _and_ made him talk. _Itachi would laugh like there was no tomorrow if he saw me like this…well, he'd smirk. Which is the Ita-equivalent to cackling his evil little head off._

"Go away." Sasori muttered. He didn't want the ignorant brat around as he lay in the cold water and just thought about how he was going to capture the glimmer of colours in the small crystalline mirrors that dripped off his hand as he held it upwards, trying to catch glimmers of colours in the pale orbs again. It would be incredibly hard, especially since he had decided that gold leaf was the only way to do that hair any justice.

"What? But I beat you, un!" Sasori opened his eyes fully.

"I'm tired, and I don't want to be here. It would just _make my day_ if you decided to stay here and grace me with your oh-so _charming_ company." Sarcasm dripped off his words, thick, sticky, and unmistakable. Like honey.

"This is my place," the blond said stubbornly. "You're just an outsider. I'm not moving until you admit that true art is transient, un" Sasori rolled his eyes.

"You wish, brat. True art is eternity." Sasori felt like rolling over and going to sleep, just like ever time inspiration hit him so hard he could physically feel it. His dreams provided him with landscapes and patterns he would never have thought of otherwise.

"Nu-uh, bastard, fleeting, un." Sasori's eyes were open long enough to catch the darting of a pink tongue from in between rosy lips. He turned his head to the side. Looking at the brat was annoying. He had enough inspiration to last him a year, he didn't need any more.

"It's eternal, brat." How Sasori managed to sound like he _wasn't _falling asleep in an ice cold fountain escaped him.

"Ephemeral, un" the blond pouted out.

"Look, brat, no matter how many big words you use, art will never be short-lived. At all. Got it?" Sasori just wanted to curl up in his big comfy studio chair and drift off to dreamland…a place with no annoyingly talkative brats…

"And no matter how many times you call me 'brat' won't change the fact that I am right, and you are wrong, un." Sasori turned his head, shaking soaking, blood red hair out of his eyes. The blond was trying to glare, but Sasori had practically grown up with Uchiha Itachi, master of the death glares. He returned the glare in kind, auburn eyes telling of all the things he'd be so very _pleased_ to do to the brat. _He look just as pretty with his tongue cut out and his hands and feet chopped off…all that I really need to keep is the hair and the eyes…_

"It's eternal, brat. That's all there is to it." Sasori tried to dumb it down, enough for this stupid _thing_ to understand.

"Nu-uh, un. True art is fleeting! A bang, un!" the blond had leaned down closer to him, his face hovering right above the puppet masters'.

"True art is _eternal,_ you stupid brat. And what the fuck is up with you? Why do you keep saying 'un', idiot?" the grin on the blonds face was more than slightly evil.

"Annoying, isn't it" the blond paused for a moment "…un."

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><p><strong>Hello everyone, this is Nychta.<strong>

**Have you had a nice life recently?**

**I haven't, in regards to this chapter. First off I had a smut block (you know, where you can only write smut) but it's not finished. Then this chapter decided to be charmingly nice and delete itself. Twice.**

**I hope Sasori's not too ooc at the end, but, meh. If you have a problem, drop me a line and I'll fix it allll up for you. So. Do you like my excuse for Deidara's little 'un'? When he was younger, it was a form of rebellion, almost. I guess now it's just there to get on Sasori's nerves.**

**Actually, leave a review anyway. Just a few words will do, but they make me encourage me so much. Also, I'd like some feedback on my semi-fight scene. Is it good? Not so good? And, if so, please tell me how I could improve. This is my first fight scene EVER (if masochistic tendencies don't count, that is) and I need to know if it's any good. I know that krav maga and aikido are completely different. But this is Sasori talking. He doesn't care about anything but his art (he's got an unhealthy obsession).**

**Can anyone tell me what they'd like best next? Deidara's pov? Or go from there and use Dei's pov? Next chapter will guarantee ita-bitch, sasEMO and naretard. And, for all you people who say that 'cest squees them a bit… I'm keeping it on the low. Are you proud of me? :3**

**Disclaimer; I don't own Naruto, and I wouldn't if I could. The thing sucks, and really should be put down. You know something is bad when the fanfiction is better than the actual thing.**

…**what? It's 2 o'clock in the morning, I went to sleep at the same time last night and woke up at 8 this -yesterday?- morning to do whatever the hell I did. I'm too tired to remember. Do you actually expect me to remember my incredibly witty disclaimer?**

**What is it with me and writing at stupid hours of the day/night/whichever the fuck it is at 2 o'clock.**

**Anyways.**

**Nychta is OUT**

**Night night.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry that I've been mucking around with the names . . . I meant to keep it Japanese style, because then I could do the whole 'Akasuna no Sasori' thing. I just like the name . . . a-ka-soo-na no sa-so-ri . . . I like saying it :3**

**a-ka-soo-na no sa-so-ri. a-ka—please excuse me.**

**Also, I just found out; blond is for males, blonde is for females, brunet is for males, brunette is for females. French much?**

**SHAMELESS SELF ADVERTISMENT! Do you like emo Naruto? Do you like angsty Itachi? If so, the storm tree is the story for YOU! Head to my profile page and follow the link! (rated m for emo-ness, and the spontaneous sex coming up in the next few chapters!)**

**Warnings! Hints (okay, more than hints) of incest, skip it if you want, it's just there for comedic value. Not that I approve of incest. No, that's just. . .eww. itasasu is the exception to my general rule. Foul languge. Not FOWL language, 'cause I'm pretty fucking sure birds aren't that advanced. . .yet. . .**

**Also, I'd like to inform you that some of my keys are sticky, so if you see any skipped letters, please ignore it. If it's causing reading trouble, leave a review and I'll fix it all up for you. No, this hasn't been edited, because I'm banned off the computer. You're lucky to be getting this. Needless to say, updates will be sporadic, but I'll make them good.**

**Anyways, read and enjoy :)**

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><p>"It's eternal, brat. That's all there is to it." Sasori tried to dumb it down, enough for this stupid <em>thing<em> to understand.

"Nu-uh, un. True art is fleeting! A bang, un!" the blond had leaned down closer to him, his face hovering right above the puppet masters'.

"True art is _eternal,_ you stupid brat. And what the fuck is up with you? Why do you keep saying 'un', idiot?" the grin on the blonds face was more than slightly evil.

"Annoying, isn't it" the blond paused for a moment "…un."

Sasori glared.

"Annoying is an understatement, brat. Quit it." He didn't like the way that the blond man's leering face got closer and closer to his. Sasori could practically feel the waft of his breath against his face. He looked up, past the golden locks that were obscuring his vision . . . _gold against blue . . . hmm, I must think about that . . . maybe mix in a little white. . ._

Sasori's sight was disjointed, and colours that didn't exist waltzed across the sky, blue, white, laced with a web of gold. Sasori blinked, holding his eyelids down for longer than was necessary. He opened his eyes back up, though, determined to survive the rest of the time he had to spend with the little brat, not to mention that he had yet to meet Sasuke's friend. He really felt like he needed to bully someone just then. Even if it meant comparing Sasuke's gravity defying hair to the charming contours of a ducks butt. In front of Itachi. In other words, Sasori was feeling so frustrated, tired and sadistic that he'd commit suicide for the slightest thrill.

"I'm not going to quit it, asshole, uuuuun," he drew out the annoying sound that he had decided to tack onto the end of his sentences, making Sasori's eyebrow twitch. From the tone of his voice, the red head had the distinct impression that if he looked at the blonds' head, a small, pink coloured tongue would be poked out between his pouting lips.

"Until you admit that true art is transien-MOTHERFU-mphh" push, splash.

Shock.

A light, airy moan.

"Brat, did you just. . ?"

"Someone pushed me, I swear, un!" loud obnoxious laughter came from behind the blond.

"HA! I got you good, Deidara sempai!" the laughter continued, and Sasori felt eyebrow twitch. Again.

"Brat, get off me." Sasori ordered coldly. The brat, Deidre or whatever his ridiculously feminine name was stayed still, his golden locks still obscuring Sasori's view of the sky. Which meant that Sasori would resort to force.

Reaching his small hands upwards, he grabbed the back of the blonds' white shirt. With a twist and pull motion that he had known for years, he threw the brat onto his back, soaking him even more. He stood up, looking like a cat that had just been dunked in the bath, all straggly, wet and unimpressed. Very unimpressed.

"YOU LITTLE IDIOT!" Sasori shouted at the orange wearing blond that had apparently pushed the brat into the fountain and onto . . .

"WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU PUSH SOMEONE INTO A FOUNTAIN? WE WERE CLEARLY HAVING A CONVERSATION," the orange idiot-as Sasori had dubbed the boy- grinned as widely as his small face would allow, crinkling his eyes, and scrunching his nose. He reached a fluorescent orange clad arm to the back of his head, scratching at the sun bright yellow locks atop his head. _What is with this place and annoying blonds?_

Deidara struggled out of the fountain, untangling his scarf which had somehow gotten caught I the toes of the man.

"Yeah Naruto, un. Don't just push people into fountains. They may drown, un." Deidara looked more like a mad cat that had been dunked in a bathtub. He was smiling, but somehow Sasori knew that the purpose of that smile was not to re-assure. His hair was dripping wet, and a few leaves and twigs had been caught in his luxurious locks. His visible eye was wide, and he fixed the orange idiot a glare that froze the smile on his face. Sasori thought he could see the boys bottom lip trembling. The smaller blond brought both hands up in front of him and waved them a bit his smile still fixed on his face.

"Ehehehe, I didn't mean to push you, Deidara sempai, I . . . eh . . ." the blonds' smile had turned into a grimace as he tried to appease the rampaging brat. Wel,l not quite rampaging _yet_ but it looked pretty damn close.

Sasori's eyes narrowed even more, if that was possible.

"And what about me? You'd be fine if you drowned me?" a panicked look appeared on the small blonds face, and he dropped his arms to his sides.

"I-I'm sorry, mister, I-I didn't . . . I'm sorry" the poor boy looked like he was about to piss himself, faced with the two most deadly glares this side of the Uchiha manor. Sasori didn't think too much of the blond 'artist', but he thought even less of the orange idiot.

"I don't want to hear your excuses, I want to see you _leaving us the fuck ALONE._ We were TALKING," how Sasori's voice managed to go from normal to a low hiss, to full on shouting in two sentences, no-one but he would know.

Deidara snickered. So the redhead was touchy about privacy, or was he just pissed off because of the . . . Deidara covered his mouth with his gloved hand to stop from drawing attention to himself. Yes, Deidara was minorly bipolar.

"Oh, does Sori-Sori want privacy?" a mocking voice called, making the redhead turn around, the look on his face proclaiming that there would be death.

"_What did you just say_, _Uchiha Itachi_?" Sasori's words hissed out, poisonous and deadly. Itachi was sure that if you could bottle that voice, it would be kept in one of those 'biohazard' containers and given one of those fancy Latin names that they give to potentially lethal things. The thought amused him greatly.

"I said, 'oh, does Sori-Sori want some privacy' in a highly assuming voice, to see if I could get the reaction that you have just graced me with. In fact, that led to a very amusing thou-"

"Do us all a favour, Uchiha, and shut the fuck up." Sasori growled, not in the mood to hear about Itachi's 'amusing thoughts' which, most of the time, weren't amusing at all.

"Unfortunately, Akasuna, I am, as you have repeatedly pointed out, a so-called 'sadistic bastard', and I do not wish to shut up. Also, it goes against my code of ethics." Itachi's code of ethics was a complicated (and completely ridiculous) thing.

"Well, then, in keeping with your code of ethics, this is how I should phrase my request then; 'Itachi, shut the fuck up, or Sasuke snuffs it'. Happy now, oh high and mighty Uchiha?" but, yes, Sasori knew his weak spot.

"Otouto and I are fighting at the moment; please do not mention his name. Also, death threats against him are not appreciated, nor allowed, so if you wish to be able to look upon my charming face, I encourage you to not even look at a stand of my brothers' hair." Sasori snorted.

"I apologise if that isn't possible. I mean, who shapes their hair like a ducks butt?"

"Who indeed? Otouto says that is natural, but I have my doubts. Say, little brother, are you sure that that ridiculous hair is natural?"

"And are you sure that your face is natural?" Sasuke's slightly less smooth voice joined the conversation.

It was funny, Sasori mused, he couldn't even see the brothers yet, and he was taunting them to all get out. He supposed that was why they got along so well. The two Uchiha's rounded the corner, with more distance between them than they ever saw fit to put between their almost identical bodies. The really were fighting.

"So what are you arguing about this time?" Sasori never was one to beat around the bush.

"Otouto insists that I am having an affair with an exotic dancer from Kiri. I have told him time and time again that Kisame is _not_ an exotic dancer, and that I am _not_ having an affair with him, but he won't listen." Itachi had no qualms about over sharing in public. Come to think of it, Itachi didn't have any qualms about anything, if it satisfied his exceedingly sick sense of humour.

"And I have told Aniki time and time again that I do NOT think that he is having an affair with Kisame, nor do I think he is an exotic dancer. The man looks like a fish, for fucks sake!" how the Uchiha's managed to get into such _interesting_ arguments, Sasori had no clue.

All the while, as the two raven headed men and the redhead exchanged barbs and sarcasm, the watching blonds just gawked. Naruto frequently scratched at his head, saying 'I don't get it' and Deidara pressed his mouth into his hand even harder, trying to stop the sounds of laughter from escaping. The youngest boy's hair really _did_ look like a ducks' butt.

"Otouto! Kisame is one of my dearest friends. Show some respect."

"Aniki, you're stupid."

"Otouto, that's a weak comeback."

"Aniki, that's-"

"We get it, we get it, you're brothers, move on." Sasori hated it when those two got stuck on the 'otouto' 'aniki' thing, because, inevitably, it led to socially unacceptable, not to mention unexplainable, displays of highly inappropriate affection. Especially because they were brothers.

Just how do you explain the siblings feeling each other up against your lounge room door? 'Oh, just ignore them. They do it all the time, the horn dogs'? Because that doesn't work. Poor Sasori knew that from experience.

Unfortunately, 'moving on' was not the pleasant thing that Sasori had expected, involving both of the Uchiha's transforming themselves into puppets and telling Sasori that he could have them. . .all right, that was a bit delusional. But only a bit.

"By the way, Sasori, what are you doing here?" Itachi. . .ask a stupid question. Sasori felt like smacking his head against the palm of his hand.

"I'm here because you _told me to wait here while you went and got Sasuke's friend._" Sasori hissed. He hated it when Itachi pulled stuff like this. The redhead had enough stress in his life, he didn't need any more.

"Oh, did I? Otouto, did I ask Sasori to stay here?"

"I don't know, Aniki, you had your hands down my pants at the time, I was a little distracted." Okay, so Sasuke didn't care about over sharing in public either. . .must be an Uchiha thing.

A muffled snort drew Sasori's disgusted 'oh-my-GOD-get-a-fucking-ROOM' glare away from the sick and twisted brothers (as Sasori liked to call them) and to the glowing face of one D-something-something. Sasori wasn't good with names.

"What do you think you're laughing at, brat?" the redheads eyes had narrowed to slits, and his eyebrows had furrowed. Annoying strands of crimson red hair had fallen into his eyes, and he flipped them back out of them. Sasori hated having hair in his eyes.

"You're friends are funny, 'Sori-Sori'," D-whatever-the-fuck-the-rest-of-his-name-was giggled. Honest to god _gigged._ Sasori had thought that only girls in cheesy romance flicks did that. Not that Sasori had watched any cheesy romance flicks. . .

"Don't call me 'Sori-Sori'"

"Don't call me brat."

"But you are a brat."

"Nuh-uh"

"You just proved mu point."

"NUH-UH!"

"Excuse me," a soft voice called out. "But would you please take your childish squabbling elsewhere so I can talk to my friend in peace?"

"Otouto, is this your friend?" Itachi asked, big brother mode ON.

"Yes. Itachi, this is. . ."

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><p><strong>And that, my friends, is where I shall leave you.<strong>

**No! Sasuke's friend is NOT Naruto! OMG! I just couldn't see Sasuke putting up with him voluntarily if he was already in a relationship. Can you guess who it is? Anyone who can gets a virtual typewriter, because typewriters are awesome. And a cake. Black forest cake. With chocolate cream, and some baileys to go with it. Nummms**

**So, review. I want to see who can guess who Sasuke's managed to befriend, despite his duck butt hair, rude attitude and incestuous inclinations.**

**Also, tell me what you think of Sasori and Deidara! What do you think happened when Naruto pushed Dei into the fountain? I can tell you that it will be original!**

**Go on, you know you want to. . .**

**Anways, see ya.**

**Nychta is OUT**

**Night night.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Okay, so I'll get started right away.**

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><p>"Otouto, is this your friend?" Itachi asked, big brother mode ON.<p>

"Yes, Itachi, this is. . ."

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><p>"I don't need an introduction, Sasuke, you talk about your big brother often enough. My name is Hyuuga Neji."<p>

"Hn. What he said." How did that brat of an Uchiha manage to make a friend? A friend in a travelling circus, no less.

Itachi was _not_ impressed. This man –_Hyuuga Neji_– was much too pretty for him to allow his otouto to associate with. He was too beautiful.

Almost translucent, moonlight pale skin was complimented by milky white eyes that seemed to shine lavender in the sun, and his long, chocolate brown hair whipped in the breeze.

_Too pretty by half._

"Otouto, do not, say 'hn'. It is not a word." Sasori very nearly facepalmed then and there. It was a well known fact that Sasuke only knew of the word/sound/language that was 'hn' from Itachi.

"Hn. Like you can talk, Aniki." Yeah, Itachi had it copyrighted.

"Hn" and there we go. Sasori scoffed.

"You don't care what Sasuke says, you're just trying to exercise your control over 'your otouto' in front of his friend so he doesn't get any ideas." The non-look in Itachi's face spoke volumes to those who had known him for a while. And 'a while' means at least ten years.

"Sasori. . ." and there was the famous if-you-even-look-at-me-wrong-at-the-moment-I-will-kill-you,-your-mother,-your-lover-and-anyone-you-ever-even-remotely-know glare. Sasuke hadn't quite got that one down pat yet, but Itachi was working on it with him. So far, he had progressed quite a lot, and could manage up to 'if-you-even-look-at-me-wrong-at-the-moment-I-will-kill-you,-your-mother,-your-lover,-and-anyone-you-ever'. So yes, it was a work in progress.

"That's my name." Sasori arched an eyebrow at Itachi, and the slightest twitch of his mouth gave away his amusement.

"You look like a drowned cat, and I'm pretty sure that the dye will wash out of your hair if you don't get it dry."

In the background, Deidara snickered. If he kept count correctly, the score was black-haired asshole: 3, red-haired asshole: 2.

"IT'S FUCKING **NATURAL**, YOU STUPID, UNEDUCATED, MORON!" Sasori exploded.

Damn, but watching them was funny. It was like. . .god, he didn't know how to describe it. And Deidara could describe _everything_.

He looked to the side a bit, to see Neji looking a bit lost, so he decided to put the long haired brunet out of his misery.

"Okay, so redheaded bastard is friends with black haired bastard, who is duck butt's brother." Neji turned to face the blond.

"Deidara, what are you even doing here?" Neji's quiet voice was still as silky smooth as his hair.

"Oh, eh. . ." he tried to think of something that was believable, but nothing came to mind. So he decided to stick with the truth.

"Well, Orochimaru's dumber than he looks, so he tried to rape me again." Silence came from the assholes' direction, but he stubbornly kept his clear blue eyes focused on Neji.

"And then I blew him up, 'cause he and Kabu-bitch-" Neji made an understanding noise "-tried to drug me. Anyways, as I was running away, I bumped into this red-headed bastard-" here Deidara waved his hand at Sasori "- who had the fucking nerve to tell me that art is _eternal_. I mean, who in their right mind believes that? Art is a bang." The last statement was accompanied by a small shrug.

The two assholes (as Deidara had dubbed Itachi and Sasori) were staring at him; almost identical almost frowns on their faces.

"He tried to rape y-?" Itachi was cut off by Sasori's icy tone.

"For god's sake brat, how many times do I have to tell you? Art is eternal. Eternity is art. A BANG IS JUST A BANG, YOU STUPID CHILD!" Sasori screamed, completely disregarding the 'attempted rape' part of Deidara's story. But there was something different in his tone – worry? Concern? Some other synonym? Deidara was probably imagining it.

"ART IS NOT FUCKING ETERNITY, ASSHOLE! DON'T YOU KNOW ANYTHING? ART IS TRANSIENT! A FUCKING **BANG**! GET IT RIGHT!" Deidara screamed.

Itachi snorted. Sasuke stared. Neji looked like he wanted to run away.

"Eh. . .Deidara?" Neji touched Deidara's arm gently, drawing his attention away from the redhead that so irritated him.

"Yessss, Neji?" the blonds' teeth were clenched together so hard that he almost sounded like Orochimaru.

"Don't blow anything up, okay?" Neji looked just a little bit nervous. "If I'm with you and you do something stupid, we'll both get" Neji moved closer, tugging Deidara's head down to meet his shorter one. "_punished_." The look on Deidara's face said that whatever it was that would happen to them, it wouldn't be fun.

"Heh. . ." it was a breathless half laugh, that was nowhere near convincing. "You know better than to talk about that kind of stuff, Hyuuga. It's a ji~inx." The wink and the playful tone didn't fool anyone, and Sasori in particular looked suspicious.

"Hn. Brat." Sasori didn't really know what to say, and he didn't like people ignoring him. He was Akasuna no Sasori, and people did not just ignore him. Especially if they were artists.

"Akasuna, I have that copyrighted." Itachi's dry humour joined in the conversation, and Deidara's mouth dropped.

_Aka-Akasuna. . . Sasori . . . Akasuna __**no**__ Sasori?_

"No, you have 'Hn. Foolish otouto' copyrighted. I'm free to use 'brat' in any way that I wish."

"Aka- did you just say **Akasuna?**" Deidara sounded shocked. "As in Akasuna no Sasori, the puppet master?" Sasori wondered if the brat's eye/s would pop out of his head.

"Yes, I am Akasuna no Sasori. Problem?" Sasori's elegant red eyebrow arched towards his messy hairline, and the way he was standing caught the sun in his eyes, making them shine an auburn honey colour that had Deidara staring even harder, trying to match up the hunched over pictures of the puppet master he had seen, to this almost doll-like man.

"N-no problem, I just . . . I-I" Deidara was as tense as he had ever been, faced with this prominent figure in the art world. If you had ever taken art as a subject in school, been to a museum, or an art gallery, you had heard of Akasuna no Sasori, a prodigy who had been making puppets since the tender age of three. He was notoriously reclusive, and only a few interviews had ever been taken with him, and in them plenty of the words were censored, and a few had been cut of halfway through. Deidara could see why that was now.

"I've just. . .heard of you, and I didn't, ummm. . ." Deidara trailed of lamely, smiling sheepishly and bringing a hand up to play with his soaking blond locks.

Just then, a gust of wind came whistling though the little clearing, and the two drenched artists shivered. It was cold, even though the sun was shining brightly. Sasori frowned even deeper, before going over to Itachi and snatching his suit jacket off him.

Itachi didn't protest, knowing that if he did, his redheaded sort of friend would scream at him. Sasori had grown up and lived most of his life in the desert, and he was still used to the scorchingly hot temperatures of his hometown, Sunagakure. He had only been in Konoha for a couple of years before moving back to his old home, saying that the leaf village was too cold for him. They had kept in touch, and Itachi still teased Sasori about his sensitivity to the cold.

"Hmph. I don't care, brat." The acidity of Sasori's words and the haughty pose of his body were lost on Deidara, as he tried to suppress laughter. Itachi's jacket was much too broad on Sasori's delicate shoulders, and his hands had been lost somewhere in the sleeves.

When he finally pulled his deceptively fragile hands out of the long arms of the black jacket, he just looked even more like a kid playing dress up with his father's clothes.

Sasori's scowl deepened as Deidara pressed his hand to his mouth again, trying (unsuccessfully) not to laugh. Deidara liked Sasori's temper, though he would never say so out loud. It was volatile and unpredictable, just the way Deidara liked his. . .well, everything, really. He didn't quite understand how the redhead could be so mistaken in his artistic views, but he could deal with that . . . with a lot of arguing in between.

"I'm sure you don't." the winning smile on Deidara's face was completely at odds with the words he was saying. Sasori scowled at the mirth that echoed around the brat's eyes, and he wished that he could be at least a little bit taller. He was uncomfortably aware that he looked like a porcelain doll that had been fitted with the wrong clothes.

"Stop looking at me like that, brat." Sasori ordered, not caring about how ridiculous he must have sounded. He didn't like the way the brat's clear, perhaps-just-a-shade-lighter-than-cerulean-eyes were staring at him.

Meanwhile, Neji and Sasuke seemed to be a bit confused.

"Aniki, how does the blond-"

"Deidara," Neji interjected, and Sasuke nodded his acknowledgement.

"-Deidara, then. How does he know Sasori?" Sasuke's onyx eyes, so like his brothers, stared up at Itachi with a look that always gave him a *ahem* _problem_ in his pants. It was a mixture of naïveté, innocence, a thirst for knowledge, and so much _trust_ that it had Itachi literally shaking in his boots. He bit back a smile, keeping his face almost at its usual stoic standard. But he couldn't quite suppress the upturning of his lip, and he couldn't keep the affection, care and _love_ out of his eyes as he gazed at his brother silently.

Sasuke's heart swelled in his chest as his brother looked at him. It was nice to know that he wasn't the only one who couldn't keep his emotions in check, and that his brother wasn't as immune to 'attacks of love' as he used to think. Ever since the day when they had become lovers, Itachi had become so much more open about everything. He let his emotions show on his face, and, once or twice, he had talked to Sasuke about their parents' murder.

Itachi had been ten, and the only reason that he had survived the massacre was his quick thinking. He had heard the gang of people talking about killing the whole of the Uchiha clan, so he had gone to hide. He figured that they may miss one person, if they were hidden well enough.

Itachi was a unique thinker, so he didn't decide on a place like a cupboard or under the stairs. No, Itachi had hidden in the fridge, of all places. He had heard the dying screams of his parents, and his small sobs had been hidden under the loud wheezing of the old refrigerator, that Mikoto, their mother, had always meant to get replaced, but never got around to. She would be glad to know that it had saved her eldest sons' life.

Sasuke still didn't know all the details, and he didn't want to pry. All he knew was that after that fateful day, Itachi had become his everything, and he was pretty sure the feeling was reciprocated. But it was only at certain times when the love Itachi felt for his precious otouto would overflow into his charcoal eyes.

Sasuke stepped two steps forward, and wrapped his arms around his big brother.

"I love you, Aniki. You're my whole wide world, and I'll never love anyone like I love you." Sasuke looked up, a trembling smile on his pink lips.

"I love you too, otouto, and I could never replace you with anyone. I live for you, Sasuke." He shivered when Itachi spoke his name. It was like a caress, intimate, warm . . . everything Itachi was, but no one but Sasuke got to see. And if anyone but him could bring that side of Itachi out. . . Sasuke didn't think he could carry on.

Neji coughed, reminding the brothers of his presence. The two artists were still arguing in the background, except instead of the sort-of intelligent points they had been making before, they were just yelling at each other.

Itachi sighed, and kept one arm wrapped around his little brother, before answering the question that had been plaguing Sasuke and Neji.

"Deidara probably knows Sasori by reputation. He's quite famous, because of some . . . oh, I don't know. Ask him why he's famous yourself." Sasuke knew that Itachi was lying. If he didn't know something, he at least tried to bullshit his way through it, and try to figure it all out without proclaiming his ignorance.

Sasuke figured it was a touchy subject, and he knew what Sasori was like when he was angry.

"You don't want me to know, do you, Aniki?" Itachi's little smiled broadened almost imperceptibly.

"I don't care, and Sasori probably doesn't either, but you have to understand that he's an intensely private person. I've been his acquaintance for a long time, and yet I still do not know very much about him. Telling other people about his life, no matter how trusted they are, is a taboo." Sasuke nodded. It fit with the little he knew of Sasori's character. Despite the amount of time Itachi spent with the redhead, the younger Uchiha had never gotten to know him very well. Partly out of jealousy (he didn't like people intruding on is 'Aniki time') but mostly because Sasori was too unpredictable for Sasuke's tastes. He swore that the man could go from perfectly calm to 'I'LL KILL YOU!' angry in a matter of seconds.

". . .WELL, FUCK YOU, AND YOUR MUM! I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE FUCKING LUKE SKYWALKER, UN! ART IS A FUCKING BANG!"

"WHAT DOES BEING LUKE SKYWALKER HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING, YOU IDIOTIC BRAT? AND YOU ARE DELUDED! ART IS ETERNITY!"

"YOU WISH! AND LUKE IS AWESOME, SO SAYING THAT I'D SHOUT AT YOU IF YOU WERE LUKE IS A BIG THING, UN!"

"WHO ARE YOU TRYING TO FOOL, BRAT? LUKE SUCKS ROCKS! ANIKIN IS THE AMAZING ONE!"

"OH, IT'S ON NOW, UN!"

Sasuke growled and whispered in Itachi's ear.

"What, it _wasn't_ on before? Why do you even hang out with Sasori?" Neji groaned, putting his face into his palms.

"And Deidara will probably blow something up," Neji looked resigned, but still sort of angry. "And if I come anywhere near him, he'll hate me forever, and then he'll blow me up." The poor brunet looked as though he wanted to disappear into the ground.

"I hang around with Sasori because he is the closest I have ever gotten to having someone as intelligent as myself, no offence to you otouto, and I have no idea what has gotten into him today." Itachi frowned, staring at the spectacle in front of him. "And Neji," he turned to face his little brothers' all too elegant for his peace of mind friend. "What do you mean by Deidara will blow him up?"

The artists had escalated to fists _again_ and Neji was watching transfixed. He had known that Deidara was flexible and strong, but he wouldn't have pegged Sasori for anything combat-worthy. Neji found himself envying the redhead's speed and strength as Sasori kicked Deidara back a few feet.

"You see that little bag hanging off his belt?" Neji pointed a long, moonlight pale finger at said object. It swung as Deidara completed the land/turn/spin combination that had had sent him tumbling into the fountain earlier in the day. Itachi nodded, noticing how the blonds' hand frequently brushed the top of the small canvas holder.

"That is full of Deidara's special detonating clay. Will and word will activate it, but nothing else can do it. Occasionally he uses fire, to add to the explosion, and to make it 'prettier'. His words, not mine." Neji was looking on, his brow furrowed in concern. He was silent as Sasori surged forward and landed a punch on Deidara's arms which had been crossed over his head. Absentmindedly, he noticed that it actually looked quite nice, the way the golden hair sometimes became entangled in the vivid red, the way all the two artists could see was themselves, like they were in their own little world.

"What do you mean by 'will and word'?" Sasuke inquired, looking sideways at his long time friend. They had met Sasuke was about nine years old, and Neji was eleven. Neji had been running away from someone, and Sasuke had yanked him into a back corner and hid until three men, dressed in black, had run by, almost silently. Sasuke had never found out who the men in black were, and he had never pressed. Neji had never liked it when anyone would push for anything, and when he didn't get his way, the brunet would often get violent. He didn't want to be at the receiving end of Neji's honed martial arts skills, so things often went Neji's way when it came to things to do, what to buy, what to talk about and other things along that vein.

"I meant, uh, eh, well. . ." Sasuke's eyes narrowed. Neji usually acted like a spoiled princess, and he maintained that 'eh', 'uh' and 'um' were not words. So the fact that he had used not one but _two_ of them in one sentence made Sasuke _very_ suspicious.

"Neji . . ." Sasuke's glare was almost as potent as Itachi's, at times.

"It's private." Neji finally blurted out. "Deidara sempai would kill me if I told you his secrets." The look on the brunet's face left Sasuke in no doubt that it was true. He could see it in the way Deidara's fist raced out, and Sasori turned to the side, making sure that Deidara's deadly hand got nowhere near his body.

Sasori seemed more cautious than he had ever been when fighting with Itachi, Sasuke noted. There was an element to the way their limbs flew and their eyes sparked off each other that was not quite . . . _right_.

Something was off about the way their glances lingered longer than necessary, and Sasuke wasn't about to question.

But Itachi had always been more astute than his little brother, and much, _much,_ more meddling.

He was still holding out for the day he could finally see the proud red-head on his knees.

* * *

><p><strong>Hey peeps, it's Nychta, back from the dead!<strong>

**Anyways, this chapter is brought to you by an epic book: 'I am NOT a serial killer', by Dan Wells. Peoples, go read it. Now. This I command you. The second one's called 'Mr. Monster', and it's just as good as the first one.**

**dammit, I love sociopaths!**

**BTW, this is a question for anyone who has ever read Cate Tiernan's books (AkumaNoDanna. . .can I now count you as a fan/WTF is going on with Incy? Or do you like mr. tall, handsome, family killer MWAHAHAHA? As for myself, I like Asher. On principle. Because I've read Anita Blake.) Who do you like better, Hunter or Morgan (from the sweep series)?**

**Also, anyone who reads Laurell k. Hamilton's books. . .who is better, Anita or Merry (or if you get right down to it, Frost or Asher)?**

**Anyways, I was in a really emo mood, so that meant I spent most of my time writing the storm tree, and a new sasodei songfic (bring me to life, by evanescence. Yes, it is written in Sasori's slightly ooc pov).**

**Okay. So here is what I want you to do.**

**Leave a review, informing me about my chapter (or ranting about the books I've mentioned XD), even if it is just 'coolio!' or 'crapola'.**

**Then, please go take my poll, as I'm trying to decide what to type up next, and It's been hell deciding.**

**If you have an idea for a storyline (any pairing, even het) I'll jot it down somewhere, and **_**may**_** get around to typing it.**

**Anyways, I'm off to write the rest of my oneshot.**

**Nychta is OUT.**

**Night night.**


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